


The Sound of Strider

by thatmountainhermit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Meteorstuck, Timeskips, i guess, timeskips everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmountainhermit/pseuds/thatmountainhermit
Summary: aka "In Which A Relationship Develops Between a Mutantblood and a Mutant Human, as Symbolised by the Progression from Silence to Singing"





	The Sound of Strider

**Author's Note:**

> Rest in pieces to my other fandoms, Homestuck has been getting pretty much all of my attention atm lol

In the beginning, Dave was silent.

 

It always scared the shit out of Karkat, turning to find that hey, asshole, there  _ was _ in fact another being in this room. Karkat still wasn’t quite used to sharing a space with people, after sweeps of a solitary existence with the loud, paranoid fucker that was his Crabdad. Strider was the worst of them, though, with his flash stepping and moving around like a goddamn ghost. At least Vriska announced her presence.

 

Many a plate was dropped from a startled realisation he was not alone, a springing instinct to get out his sickles and  _ defend himself _ or  _ run _ .

 

… So maybe the humans weren’t the only fucked up ones. He had an excuse. 

 

First it was mumbling. Four months in, after everyone else had moved into pairs, a quiet stream of noise started moving around the meteor. Less plate-casualties were found as Karkat’s advanced hearing registered the soft drone, one that always revealed itself to be Strider and his endless flow of words. 

 

Strider himself didn’t seem to be aware that he mumbled unless called out on it. But it had soon become the undertone to everything he did. Thoughts scrambled to get out of him and did so with a strange, constant rhythm, words spilling over the edge of soft lips in an aural waterfall. If one listened closely enough, they would hear extended metaphors, references to long dead pop culture, and honestly straight up inane bullshit.

 

Sometimes, Karkat listened closely enough.

 

Sometimes, more than just inanity slipped through. 

 

Sometimes, he wondered if he had misjudged Dave.

 

“Hey, asshole, want to come watch a movie with me?” The surprise would have been comical, if Karkat himself hadn’t felt the same way, the words being spoken before he gave them a thought. 

 

It was a bad idea. It was a good idea. He hadn’t been able to sleep, insomniac meteor wandering leading him to the kitchen. And hey, Dave and his mumbling was there too, still going between sips of that weird, filmy “coffee” that he seemed to survive on and Karkat occasionally ingested. He didn’t want to be alone, and here was another sentient being.

 

Of course, Dave didn’t stop talking throughout the entire fucking movie. Which meant Karkat didn’t stop yelling at him to “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ENJOY THE SUPERIOR CULTURE I AM BESTOWING UPON YOU”. It was almost enjoyable. Almost.

 

Still, it wasn’t a surprise when on another night of mutual insomnia, Dave invited himself over one night and declared they would watch “the greatest film in all of human history, even better than the confusing clusterfuck of a troll romcom the other night where the guys kept making out, what was even with that Vantas-”

 

The movie was crap. Karkat had tried to make sense of the acting, the dialogue, hell, even the badly edited and gratuitous sex scenes. Strider laughed at all of his questions. In the end, he explained that the film was, in fact, one of the worst films made. The kind where it was so bad it was considered “good” in ironic circles. 

 

Karkat told him to fuck off.

 

Strider kept coming at sporadic, then regular times. Sometimes he brought a movie. Sometimes he demanded that Karkat put on one of the many, many,  _ many _ romcoms in his library, just so that he could make fun of it. 

 

And life continued.

 

The rapping honestly shouldn’t have been a surprise. And yet it was. Mostly because of the situation Karkat was in when he registered that Dave’s mumbling had developed a more purposeful rhythm, the words shifting to have some aim of making sense. 

 

Sprawled on Dave’s sleeping platform that was covered in blankets and pillows that smelled like him, Karkat held his book precariously over his head. Dave was sitting at his desk, mumbling as he clicked away at his computer, headphones on but only one ear covered - his left, because he heard music better in that ear - and then he shifted, the mumbling paused, and Karkat’s book was suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. Of course, Dave wasn’t rapping about anything particularly world changing, not sobbing about his (really fucked up) past or world peace or change, but… 

 

There was just something about Dave rapping. Something about the way he kept a perfect beat, didn’t slip once. Something about how he, Karkat Vantas, was trusted enough to witness something that Dave actually took pride in under all those layers of “irony”. Something about how he looked when succeeding at something he genuinely enjoyed.

 

When a final click cut through the final few seconds of silence, Karkat clapped softly. Dave gave him a thumbs up. He didn’t look over. Karkat noticed the faint blush on his cheeks nonetheless. 

 

He showed Karkat the completed project a few days later. He immediately demanded to hear more. Two hours later found a very red Dave as Karkat downloaded every song onto his phone to listen to on repeat later. 

 

Karkat found himself listening to the music when they were apart, a lullaby and a motivation, a reassurance and a reminder that he wasn’t alone. He’d never admit it, but his favorite tracks were the ones with Dave rapping.

 

Sometimes Dave’s door was locked, and he didn’t emerge for a few days, as nightmares or flashbacks took control and he forgot that he was safe. Sometimes Karkat holed himself up in his room, relying on a small stash of food (a habit he’d picked up from Dave), because socialising became too much and picked at his frayed nerves and delicately-balanced emotions. Sometimes their words in their banter got a little too pointed, hitting a little too close to home and they’d avoid each other for a while.

 

It was the last one, this time. Dave had been acting strange, Karkat had been too tightly wound to let it go. Tensions rose as they picked out their verbal weapons, too wounded to see they were hurting each other. Until Dave said something about being clingy, and Karkat responded with something about fighting, and then they were absconding before other could see the gathering tears. 

 

That was 4 days ago. He thinks. Karkat wasn’t the Time guy.

 

A quiet knock, the sound of shifting clothes, and there’s a dip in the pile as another body joins him. The silence is thick. Karkat left the door unlocked because fuck, he was getting lonely, and he knew Dave felt the same if he was here. But apologising was as hard as ever.

 

Soft chords, an acoustic instrument that Karkat recognised to be human. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask Dave what was doing, why was he playing something from his phone, but then: 

 

“Wise men say…”

 

That was Dave’s voice. Not mumbling, not rapping, but  _ singing _ . Vulnerable in the way the words were sung softly, carefully, deliberately. The lyrics weren’t Dave’s, Karkat could tell, but they might as well have been.

 

“... I can’t help falling in love… with… you.”

 

The song ended, as did the spell over Karkat. He turned to Dave and found red eyes staring back, watching him cautiously. A pink tongue darted out, nervously licking too-fragile lips. It was all there, plain as day, what Dave felt.

 

“Is... that why you were acting so strangely?” The question was stupid, he knew the answer, but he asked it anyway.

 

A silent nod. There was fear there, burning in the red. Karkat’s red. Dave’s red.  _ Their  _ red.

 

He leaned in, cupping Dave’s face oh-so-gently in his hands, and pressed their lips together quickly. “I love you too, Dave. So much.” He whispered, a grin  coming to his face without permission. “Dumbass.”

 

Relief flooded Dave’s features as he chuckled softly, fondness tugging those soft lips into a tiny smile. “Vant-ass.” 

 

Karkat merely pulled him into another kiss.


End file.
